


Variations on a Theme

by missmollyetc



Series: Cardverse [2]
Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Minor Violence, Multi, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-13
Updated: 2010-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-07 05:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are multiple variables in every story. A continuation of "The Business Card"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Variations on a Theme

One.

 

Working with the government had its privileges, such as not having to rely on Don's good mood to get up to the office for a talk. Don had said it himself, he didn't even need a visitor's pass to walk right by security (with a hearty wave to Angelica at the front desk) and straight into the elevator.

Charlie coughed, covering his mouth with a fist, and punched the floor number with the other hand, rather impressed that his fingers weren't shaking.

It wasn't that he didn't _care_ that Don had killed a man, he did. Don had _killed_ someone, and…it was awful, terrible that his brother had ever been put into such a situation. But Don was brilliant in his own field, capable and cool, and in charge. If it had happened, then that man's death had been necessary, and he… He was okay with that. Because it meant Don lived, and that other man, that _criminal_, that kidnapper of little girls, didn't. There was a very important distinction to be made on that point.

Charlie bit his lip. He hadn't meant to kiss Don.

At least, he hadn't meant to kiss him in any way that could have been taken as…unbrotherly. He'd simply been grateful. Suddenly, violently thrilled that Don was alive and another man was dead.

However, he had still been sane enough to notice that _Don_ wasn't all that happy about it, so he'd refrained from jumping out of his chair, and doing a little dance. He was too old for the Dance of Joy, anyway.

Maybe he should have done the dance, the kiss seemed to have fallen a little flat.

Well, perhaps it was more accurate to say that the kiss had been mutually exclusive, and mostly unresponsive…except for when the guilty thrill of feeling his brother's lips press back against his own, even if it had only been a nanosecond, had caused him to kiss Don again. That brief space in time where Don kissed him back, tasting of bad whiskey, had…changed things.

It reminded Charlie a great deal of Chaos Theory, when the flapping wings of a butterfly half way across the world started a chain reaction culminating in unforeseen penalties in the opposite hemisphere. The first kiss could have been passed off as brotherly, familial even. It had been close-mouthed, innocent, and performed without any shred of carnal intent on the part of either participant. It had been more a--an affirmation than anything else. Don alive, Charlie happy.

Their second kiss had been fallout. Because Don had kissed him back, and the new variable changed the equation.

The elevator doors dinged as they opened, and he stepped out into the corridor leading to Don's work area.

It looked like the FBI had lunch around the same time he did. Most of the desks were empty, and it seemed they were saving money on the electricity by shutting off every second light panel. Charlie narrowed his eyes. There were forty-seven light panels installed on the ceiling, each held three tubes of fluorescent gas behind sheets of fiberglass. If every second panel was turned off, then the electricity needed to power the rest was--

He caught himself inches from head-diving into a desk with his shin tangled around a sudden chair. A sheet of paper tore under his hands, and he wound up with his nose on top of an eraser.

Well. That was embarrassing. He was turning into Larry.

A strong hand clapped on his shoulder, startling Charlie into losing his grasp on the desk.

"Whoa! You gotta watch out there," David said.

David's amused face swung into view as he helped Charlie right himself. Charlie coughed, straightening his jacket with both hands, and nodding to the side.

"Hey, if you guys aren't gonna watch where you put your chairs…that's a lawsuit waiting to happen," he said.

David raised a finger. "This is the government," he said. "Don't mention lawsuits."

Charlie grinned, and walked with David back to his desk, two over from Don and Terry's spots. David looked good today, well, he always looked well put together. Something about a man in good shape, and dressed nicely, always caught his eye.

Well, coming from academia, it might simply be the allure of the foreign and exotic. Professors and students weren't exactly taking fashion advice from GQ. Thank God for the women.

Amita, at least, took care with her appearance. She was quite the lady, smart _and_ beautiful. He liked her dark hair, how soft it felt brushing against his shoulder when they worked together. Sweet smelling and thick under his hand when…no, that had been Don.

"What brings you down here?" David asked. He came to a stop by his desk and sat down, pulling out the chair across from him for Charlie.

Charlie shrugged, and took the seat. "Just--just coming for a visit, you know. Nothing special."

He crossed his arms across his chest, and tried to act natural. Nope, nothing to see here. Just coming to talk to his brother about possible…possibilities. Things that needed to be worked out. Charlie looked down. Wow, he really needed to buy some new shoes.

David coughed, and sat back in his chair. "Is this about the shooting?" he asked.

"What? Oh, yeah." Charlie looked up. "I'm a little…concerned. A little."

David was somber, a little wry, but mostly earnest. He sat casually by his desk, one arm along the back of his chair. Charlie found his eyes drawn to the gun half-hidden at David's shoulder.

Don carried a gun like that. He'd worn it the night they'd kissed. Charlie licked suddenly dry lips, and cleared his throat.

"Will he…will he get in trouble?" he asked.

"I…you know, he might," David said. "It's always a possibility."

Charlie jerked forward in his chair. "But he didn't do anything wrong! He…wouldn't."

David nodded. "You know that, and I know that. Don's not the type to cross the line, but a man is dead, and that means a whole machinery has to get in gear."

"Like what?"

David leaned on his knees, his sidearm disappearing beneath his jacket. "He's going to have to go through a process of review. He'll have to stay at his desk for a while…probably see a psychiatrist."

"Dr. Weber," Charlie said. "She called the house this morning."

And hadn't that been a pleasant shock for Dad.

David raised his eyebrows. "Really? That was fast."

"Pretty surprising considering the bureaucracy around here."

"Ha." David smirked, but Charlie suddenly found he wasn't in the mood.

He'd had to talk Dad down from the rooftops about Dr. Weber. Bad enough his oldest son hadn't told him he was going into therapy, but that his oldest son had been _ordered_ into therapy? Charlie predicted a lot of thinly veiled rants in Don's future.

At school, he'd had to teach with the feel of Don's hand still around his wrist and the taste of whiskey in his mouth. He'd actually felt a little drunk when he'd gotten up that morning, then a little hungover after he'd realized the kiss--kisses, really--hadn't been a dream. Charlie touched a finger to his lip.

"Hey, hey Charlie, you okay, man?"

David was crouched next to Charlie's chair, a friendly hand on his arm. He was frowning up at him. Charlie shook himself out of his stupor, and tried to smile reassuringly.

"Yeah, I'm good, don't worry about it. Long night, you know how it is."

David chuckled, and stood, hands on his hips. "I know how it is. You and your brother…like peas in a pod."

Charlie stood, rubbing his hands together, and ducked his head to the side. "I guess so…"

"Yeah, well, I've got to get going," David said. "I've got a lunch date."

He began to walk away, throwing his overcoat on one arm.

"Hey, have you seen Don?" Charlie asked.

David called over his shoulder. "I think I saw him and Terry over by their area! They might have left for lunch, though."

"Thanks!"

The outer door swung shut on David's reply, and Charlie made his way to Don's desk. Three feet away he already knew his brother hadn't been there in at least an hour. There were no coffee cups, no open files…Don probably had taken Terry to lunch, and Charlie was an idiot for not calling first.

He'd been hesitant to call until they'd spoken in person, but…what was Don gonna do? Hang up on his own brother? Even if his own brother had--had kissed him at a time when Don had been obviously quite vulnerable, and probably really drunk, and thus…maybe he didn't even remember the kiss, and Charlie was making a fool of himself in an empty office.

He'd just leave a note.

Pen and paper were scrounged from a drawer underneath Don's impressive collection of paper clips. Charlie bent down over the desk top, pen at the ready, and froze. What the hell was he supposed to say?

_Sorry, I missed you. Dad talked to Dr. Weber, don't come home for awhile?_

_Oops! Did you know that when two objects come into close proximity with each other that those same two objects exert their own magnetic fields which act as attractors, and thus cause collision if not sufficiently restrained by their own inertia? Trust me, it's all science._

_Hey, wanted to talk to you, but you were at lunch. Wanna make out?_

Charlie bit down hard on the end of his pen. Maybe a note was a bad idea. He should go talk to Larry.

Of course, there again lay the problem of what in God's name he would say. And, possibly, how fast Larry would call the asylum.

Charlie scrubbed a hand across his head, and unbent from the desk. This was stupid. He _was_ acting like a fool, and that was a direct refutation of all available data. He had a problem to solve.

Whatever their difficulties, and there had been many, he and Don could work them out. It was all a matter of fitting the information needed to the information already obtained, and then they'd have their answer. Of course, it would be nice if both he and Don were in the room when that--

A flash of blonde hair caught Charlie's eye. He looked to his right, and saw Terry and Don, sitting in the glass-encased conference room, files spread between them. Charlie smiled, and moved away from Don's desk, stepping in their direction. He idly popped the pen in his mouth for safe keeping. He was always losing his pens.

This was perfect. He was going to see Don. They were going to talk about everything, about killing a man, about the kisses. Most importantly, he would remind Don that, no matter what, they were brothers, family, and that was never going to change even if--

Don was kissing Terry.

Why did that hurt?

Charlie let his hands fall on the metal bar bisecting the two plates of glass making up the wall, and watched his brother kissing Terry. His hand was tangled in her hair, his mouth sealed on top of hers. He looked desperate, intent… They looked good together. Right.

Suddenly, Don lurched back into his chair, Terry's fist in his stomach.

Charlie did a little dance.

Inside the glass room, they were speaking--well, Terry was speaking and Don was paying really close attention. She didn't look happy. In fact, she seemed sad more than anything, disappointed. She fixed her hair and her clothes, and then walked to the door, glancing to her left.

She looked straight at him, and Charlie tried to give his best impression of a filing cabinet. Sadly, it didn't seem to work. Her mouth thinned to a tense line, but she walked out the door without saying anything.

Charlie turned his attention back inside the conference room. Don was staring at him, absolutely livid.

Oh, this wasn't good.

Before Charlie could, oh say, make a run for the fire exits, Don was racing out of the conference room and standing very close, his breath husking onto Charlie's face. His tie was undone, the first two shirt buttons open, and his sleeves rolled to his wrists. He looked tired and pained, but mostly, very, very angry.

"What are you doing here?" Don hissed, grabbing on to Charlie's arm and squeezing. "Nobody called you."

Charlie winced at the grip, the fingers digging right into his nerves. He opened his mouth, and rethought his initial response. Better to start with something more general.

"I came to see how you were doing," he said.

Well. That didn't seem to be as innocuous as he'd first thought. Don's eyes widened. His face flushed and then drained of color. He snarled, actually snarled with teeth, and then whirled Charlie around and began pushing him, faster and faster until they were practically running, out of the office, through a corridor Charlie had never taken before.

Oh this was so very bad. Don couldn't really…wouldn't really…it had just been a little kiss! Two kisses! But really, had that last kiss counted? It had been more of an--an afterthought, really. No reason to kick anyone's ass.

The heavy metal door clanged shut behind them, and then it was just him and Don, in a stairwell. Alone in a stairwell. With no witnesses.

"Don, Don, I don't know what you're thinking right now, but I'd like to remind you that we are inside of a public building, and you _are_ a federal agent, a public servant as it were--"

"Shut up," Don said.

Charlie was afraid to turn around. Afraid of what he would see on Don's face, in his eyes, if he faced him. Don was disgusted with him. Thought he was sick, deranged…maybe…maybe even… Charlie swallowed, hard, and thought fast.

"Sure, I can shut up, of course I can, I'm just saying, you know, that killing me, or--or whatever you--"

"_Shut up_."

Don shoved him back onto the wall. One foot fell down the top step, and Charlie slipped, but regained his footing without Don noticing. Don was still holding on to his arm, and his other hand came up to clench the loose fabric at Charlie's shoulder. Charlie wondered if he'd have bruises later.

"Shutting up now," Charlie said, nodding so hard his curls bounced across his nose.

The hands on his body clenched, digging into his skin. Don closed his eyes, as if the sight of Charlie made him ill. He was breathing hard.

Charlie ached, a knot twisted in his stomach, in his chest. He wanted to touch Don, put his hands on him, but his limbs wouldn't obey his commands, and he decided it was for the best. Don was already touching him. That was enough.

"Why are you _here_, Charlie." Don didn't bother framing it as a question.

Charlie opened and closed his mouth. Didn't Don remember?

Don grimaced, and shook his head. He pulled Charlie from the wall and shoved him back, pulled and shoved back, again and again, until Charlie's hands came up to grasp Don's wrists. Charlie's eyes narrowed. This wasn't Don. This wasn't like him at all.

"I…I came to see how--"

"You came to see how I am," Don said bitterly. "How I'm feeling."

Charlie nodded quickly. He licked his lips, and realized he was breathing just as hard as Don, deep, dragging gulps of stale air. A palm pressed against his chest, and he risked looking down to see Don's hand over his heart. He looked up and watched lines appear on Don's face. He was so…hurt. Confused, and yes, angry, but more…

Charlie couldn't think. The air was too thick around them both, confining. He needed to sit down, needed air, and the only thing holding him together were Don's hands, still gripping his body, but not hurting it anymore.

"Damn it, Charlie, how do you… You _kissed_ me, God damn it. You…_kissed_ me."

Charlie wasn't proud of the noise he made just then. He squeaked, actually squeaked, and made a break for the stairs, but Don held firm. His eyes locked onto Don's face, and Don averted his eyes, focusing…God, he was focusing on Charlie's _mouth_.

Charlie's mouth went dry. He felt a little drunk again. Had there been something in the curry he'd had at lunch?

"I had to do something," he said. "You _killed_ a man, Don, and--"

"Don't," Don said.

Charlie matched Don's sudden frown. They were not going to ignore this. He had not been dragged into a stairwell for nothing but the pleasure of being manhandled by his own brother.

"I'm not sorry," he said. "I'm not going to apologize. I'm glad--"

"You're my God damned brother!" Don roared.

The sound waves rebounded in the stairwell, and Don seemed startled. Charlie flexed his grip on Don's wrists, caressing the soft, thin skin underneath his brother's shirt, trying to calm him. It didn't seem to work. Don's nostrils flared, he shoved his face close to Charlie's, and panted through his mouth.

Charlie continued stroking Don's wrists. He listened to his brother's breathing take on an edge of panic, felt how hot Don was against his skin. Don was hurting, deeply hurting, and Charlie wasn't helping.

Then, Don's lips brushed against his cheek. Dry, a little chapped, and something inside Charlie snapped. He tilted his head to the side, sucked Don's lower lip into his mouth, and waited for the world to end.

Don didn't taste like whiskey this time. He tasted like coffee and some kind of danish when Charlie slipped his tongue inside his brother's mouth, encouraged by Don's open mouth. He tried to move closer, and Don shoved him back to the wall.

Don smashed into him, taking over the kiss and forcing Charlie's head back. He bit down on Charlie's tongue and sucked it fiercely. His hips rubbed against Charlie's, and Charlie moaned. His hands ran up Don's arms to his shoulders, wrapping around to draw him closer.

All the fear, all the tension and hurt burned through him, made him want to break inside of Don and find an answering pain. Anything to know he wasn't alone in this, that his brother was right there with him. Charlie's cock hardened, pushing into Don's stomach. He felt Don hard against his hip, and held him when Don began to shake.

Don felt like sin against his body. This wasn't right. Something like this, this heat building between them…there were _reasons_ why what he and his brother were doing was very, very wrong. And the slick, hungry pleasure welling inside of him was first on that list. God, this was his fault. They were here, in the stairwell, wrapped around each other's bodies at Charlie's instigation. He had pushed too far, too hard, and now he was starved for the weight of his brother's body thrusting against his own. His brother had been hurting, and all Charlie could offer was more pain, and he couldn't _stop_.

He tasted so damn good in Charlie's mouth.

Suddenly, Don tore himself away, hiding his face in Charlie's neck like he was the younger brother.

"What am I doing?" he groaned.

Charlie couldn't help himself. He wrapped his calf around Don's leg, and pressed his cock against the hollow in Don's hip. Oh, this wasn't supposed to feel good, but it did, and they were together, which meant...Chaos Theory. An outcome derived from a seemingly unconnected set of variables that when put together revealed an inevitable pattern. Magnetic fields and strange attractors.

"Don. Don," Charlie spoke into his brother's ear. "It's okay."

Don sobbed and pushed him away. He shivered in the sudden cold and watched Don scramble for breath, staring at his body like Charlie was air.

"It's not. It's not okay," he said. "Nothing like this can be okay."

Charlie swallowed. His body yearned towards his brother, and he struggled for control. Don licked his mouth. His hands trembled against Charlie's body, twitching along his chest.

"You're stressed," Charlie said. "I can understand that."

"This is not for you to understand," Don said.

Don's hands stroked over Charlie's shirt, and down his stomach as if in a dream, sending sparks through his body. Charlie shivered, closing his eyes and tilting his face to the ceiling. He rolled his hips against the wall, needing Don's heat against him. Then, he remembered that he came equipped with arms too. He pulled his brother closer, and Don's mouth fluttered across his ear.

"I was doing my job," he whispered, and Charlie shivered again. His eyes stared unblinking at the ceiling. The darkness, the rasp of pain in Don's voice cut through Charlie's skin.

"Killing that man was a part of my job," Don continued. "And you're my brother, and this is wrong."

Charlie shut his eyes. Don's hands worked beneath his clothes. His calluses--from firing a gun, from writing reports, from heaven--scratched against the soft skin of Charlie's stomach. He rocked against Don, desperate suddenly to feel more, the teasing glimpse of skin offered by his brother's hands not enough. He let Don push and pull him where he wanted and then they were thrusting against each other, cock to cock.

God, it was wonderful, horrible, everything like love and too much like punishment. Don's body slammed against his, knocking Charlie's head into the wall. He wound his fingers in Don's hair and moaned, angling for kisses that sank through him like acid. He thrust into Don, fire pooling in his stomach, the pulse of his heart ratcheting up into higher numbers. The pressure of his jeans, and Don's pants, the unrelenting pace. The _noises_ spilling from Don's mouth made him move faster until Don hid his face in Charlie's hair and shuddered, coming in his slacks.

Don's knees buckled, and Charlie took his weight, grinding harder until he came as well, biting down on Don's shoulder to muffle his shriek. For a moment, they were quiet, while the echoes died around them. Charlie rubbed his fingers against Don's back. Don felt like bedrock against him, the only solid thing in a world where butterfly wings could change the course of history.

"Never," Don said, holding Charlie close. "Never again. Never thank me again. Not for that. Not for anything."

Only if Don did the same for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Theoretically, if you wanted, you could read The Business Card straight through without reading this piece, but I think it adds a great deal to know both sides of the story, Don's and Charlie's.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have nothing (apparently, not even my sanity). Numb3rs is the product of CBS and the Scott Brothers, and I make nothing from this while they rake in the millions. Which is how I like it.


End file.
